“You mean to throw me over, then?”
“Yes, you and your whole gang. I’ve had enough of you. You thought you owned me, didn’t you?”
West did not flinch. “It’s war between us, then; is it?” he said.
“Call it what you please, but get out!”
West smiled. “Very well, then. I think we understand each other. Now that you’ve got your nomination again you believe you’re strong enough to stand up against us. After we’ve made you, you’re going to knife us. And you make your wife the cloak, the pretext—just as you’ve used her all along!”
Douglas seized West by the throat and hurled him to the floor.
The door opened, and Helen stood on the threshold, her face white, her figure trembling. “Douglas!” she whispered.
Briggs released his hold and stood up. “Excuse me,” he said, glancing at his wife. “I forgot myself.” He glanced at the prostrate figure. “Get out!”
West rose, his face flushed with anger. He walked slowly toward the door. Then he turned. “You’ll pay for this!” he said.